La Vie en Rose
by Elie de Lantreuil
Summary: Ron and Hermione haven't seen one another in five years. She is now living in Paris. Destiny brings them together again, but will they manage to heal ancient wounds? And what exactly happened five years earlier? Why did she leave England?
1. At the Sacré Coeur

La Vie en Rose  
  
Author: Elie de Lantreuil aka Elais Rated: R Summary: He hadn't seen her. If she left the church right now, he would never know she had been standing a few metres away. He would never know she was living in France. Ronald Weasley would go back to England never knowing Hermione Granger was living in Paris. Never knowing that she had seen him and had walked away without even saying a word to him. Not even 'hello', after 5 years of absence.  
  
Author's notes:  
  
*Slightly and freely inspired by the photography of the French movies "Le Fabuleux Destin d'Amélie Poulain" ( directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet) and "Jeux d'Enfants" (directed by Yann Samuell). Thank you to Audrey Tautou, Matthieu Kassovitz, Guillaume Canet and Marion Cotillard for giving life to Amélie, Nino, Julien and Sophie. They belong to the very great French new generation of actors and directors (Kassovitz and Canet).  
  
*The title of this story, La Vie en Rose is the title of a French song, interpreted by many artists (among them Edith Piaf, Louis Armstrong, Trio Esperança and Zazie). (Louiguy, Piaf).  
  
*Thanks to my beta-readers, Portkey, and Ambergreene, who is my beta for this story. Hope you like it!  
  
La Vie en Rose  
Chapter I: At the Sacré-Coeur  
  
Quand il me prend dans ses bras, Qu'il me parle tout bas, Je vois la Vie en Rose Il me dit des mots d'amour Des mots de tous les jours Et ça m'fait quelque chose  
  
Il est entré dans mon coeur Une part de bonheur Dont je connais la cause C'est toi pour moi, Moi pour toi Dans la vie Tu me l'as dit, l'as juré pour la vie  
  
Et dès que je t'aperçois, Alors je sens en moi Mon coeur qui bat  
  
Hermione Granger was sitting on a park bench in Paris. The Sacré-Coeur was towering in front of her. She could hear the familiar routine of the place. Tourists were taking pictures of the famous church, laughing. They were happy.  
  
Hermione sighed and looked at a mime who was standing, straight as an I and not making the slightest move, a few feet away. He was dressed as a nineteenth century French gentleman. She could not help but smile. The mime, who was facing her, slightly winked at her. She took a deep breath and turned her head to look in the direction of the Place du Tertre, famous for its street-painters.  
  
Hermione loved the district of Montmartre, with its little streets, its painters, its history. She was completely fascinated. When she walked in the streets, she often thought of Toulouse-Lautrec, Van Gogh, Picasso and other great painters she had seen the paintings of in the Musée d'Orsay, having fun at the Lapin Agile, or at the Moulin Rouge, flirting with Nini- legs-in-the-air or La Goulue.  
  
Hermione was living in a flat in one of the little streets of Montmartre. She had moved in a year or two before. She had stopped counting the days. She did not want to think about the reasons why she had left England five years before, anyway. She had lived in Italy for one year, and had then moved to Greece, before deciding to come live in Paris. She had let her life as a witch behind her. Or so she tried to convince herself, for she still continued to carry her wand with her wherever she was going. Even if she hadn't used it in four years and a half.  
  
What would her old friends and teachers think, knowing that the little bookworm and very promising student she once was, was now a waitress in Paris, living like a Muggle?  
  
No, she did not want to think about that. She just wanted to enjoy the moment. If that was possible.  
  
She felt the wind caress her hair. She looked up at the sky. Though it was still blue, she could tell a storm was brewing. She could not explain it, but she always knew when a storm was brewing, even when the sky was of the purest blue. Or even when people on the radio or on TV told everyone crazy enough to believe them that the sun would be shining all day long.  
  
She shook her head, got up and headed for the church. She often went inside, not because she wanted to pray, but because whenever she was in this building, she felt more secure.  
  
She entered the church, and let her eyes adjust to the darkness inside the building. She blinked once or twice, and walked to the bench she usually sat on. It was always empty, because it was in a corner. But today, it wasn't empty.  
  
Someone was sitting on the bench. Someone she would recognize anywhere. Someone she had tried to forget without ever managing to. The one man she had ever loved. The one man she would ever love.  
  
The very person she had wanted to forget. The person because of whom she had left England. No, she reminded herself, she had left England because she had wanted to. And even if she had wanted to leave the country because of something that had happened between him and herself, it wasn't his fault. She had chosen to leave, out of guilt. He had never asked her to. In fact, she had never told him she was going to leave. She had been there one day, and the next, she was gone. Without an explanation. Without even letting a letter for people to understand why she had chosen to leave. But he knew why she had left. He would not have told anyone, not even his sister Ginny, or their friend Harry, but Ronald Weasley knew why she had left England. How could he not?  
  
She knew she had been cruel. She knew she had hurt people. The people she loved the most. Her family. Her friends. Maybe even Ronald Weasley.  
  
The candles were creating a halo around his head, and his hair appeared redder than ever. From where she was standing, it looked like five years hadn't changed him at all. He still looked young. Of course, he looked young, Hermione told herself. She always felt so old inside, almost close to death, that she had forgotten that he was only twenty-five years old. That she was only twenty-five years old.  
  
He hadn't seen her. If she left the church right now, he would never know she had been standing a few metres away. He would never know she was living in France. He would go back to England never knowing Hermione Granger was living in Paris. Never knowing that she had seen him and had walked away without even saying a word to him. Not even 'hello', after 5 years of absence.  
  
But she could not walk away. She wanted to, though, but she was like mesmerized by him. By this vision. This vision of a ghost of her past. Memories were flooding her head right now, sad and happy ones mixed together. Her feet were like glued to the ground. She wanted to run away, very, very far away and she could not. She felt trapped. Trapped in a cage she had forged herself. As for Disapparating, it was out of the question. The church was crowded. But it surprised her that for the first time in four years she had thought of using magic just because she had seen him.  
  
Like in a bad movie-sequence shot in slow motion, she saw him turn his head towards her, probably feeling he was being watched. Their eyes locked for a second, surprise filling his. She could feel her lower lip shake. She slowly began to step back. She saw him mouth her name, as if not really believing she was there and trying to convince himself that she was not some kind of trick his mind was playing on him. Soon, she wasn't only stepping back. Soon, she found herself running away, out of the church, knocking over tourists. Once outside the building, she slowed down.  
  
"Hermione!"  
  
She turned round and saw him run to her. The wind was slapping her face. She looked up, breathing raggedly. She swallowed hard, almost scared. The blue sky was gone. Dark clouds were now menacing. The storm. Strangely enough, though she had only been in the church a minute or two, the storm wasn't brewing any longer. It was now ready to hit full force. She could feel its power within herself.  
  
Her hair, whipping in the wind, blinded her for a second. Once she had pushed it away from her face, she noticed he was standing a few metres away from her, looking at her intently. The tourists were running away, trying to find some shelter, scared of the storm.  
  
Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger were now the only persons standing on the Parvis of the Sacred-Heart Church.  
  
Rain started to pour, slowly at first, then more violently. But neither Ron nor Hermione moved. Their eyes were locked together, speaking for them. But both thought that no words could ever describe what was going on between them at that very moment. They had never felt anything that intense in their entire lives.  
  
The rain was hitting them hard, the wind was whirling around them, bolts of lightning were flashing in the dark sky above them, yet they did not seem to be aware of anything but each other.  
  
The rain was streaming down both their faces. Hermione's hair was sticking to her face. They were drenched to the bones.  
  
They had not seen one another in five years. It was surreal. It felt like a dream. Or a nightmare. Hermione could not really make up her mind. Too many emotions were turning everything upside down in her head. She felt like she was going crazy. She wasn't prepared for such a bustle of emotions. She had never imagined she would see him again. But there he was, standing in front of her, looking as if she had just left him the day before.  
  
Hermione shivered and closed her eyes, breaking eye contact with Ron. When she opened them, he was right in front of her, almost invading her private space. Feeling him stand so close to her made her remember the night they had spent together. The one night she had allowed herself to be a woman. The one night they had ever shared.  
  
She saw him make a move to touch her. Too scared to let that happen, fearing she would be hurt once again, she reached for her wand inside her jacket pocket. Ron's hand never touched her arm, for she disapparated when it was only an inch away from her.  
  
Ronald Weasley only realized what had happened a minute later. A tear rolled down his cheek, and mingled with the rain.  
  
*-* Here are the English lyrics of the song La Vie en Rose, sung, amongst others, by Louis Armstrong. I joined under what would be the real translation of the French song, the original one. I only put the chorus of the song. Thank you to Grildobkin for finding the lyrics for me. And thank you to the director Yann Samuell for making me fall in love with this song.  
  
When you kiss me heaven sighs  
  
And though I close my eyes  
  
I see La vie en rose  
  
When you press me to your heart  
  
I'm in a world apart  
  
A world where roses bloom  
  
And when you speak...angels sing from above  
  
Everyday words seem...to turn into love songs  
  
(Mack / Piaf)  
  
(When he takes me in his arms, When he whispers things to my ear, I see la vie en Rose He tells me loving words, Everyday words, That make me feel strange  
  
Happiness entered my heart And I know why... It's your for me, Me for you In the life You told me so, promised me you would love me for ever  
  
And whenever I see you, I feel deep inside My heart beating...) 


	2. Reminiscences at the top of the Eiffel T...

La Vie en Rose  
by Elie de Lantreuil  
aka Elais  
  
Summary (chap1): Ron and Hermione haven't seen one another in five years. She is now living in Paris. Destiny brings them together again, but will they manage to heal ancient wounds? And what exactly happened five years earlier? What was so important she felt she had only one way out: leaving England, her friends and her family?  
  
Author's note: I made a mistake in the first chapter: the right spelling is Sacré Coeur and not Sacré-Coeur. Sorry! Thanks to all of you who reviewed chapter one. It was one of my best birthday presents ever! Thank you to Ambergreene and Portkey.  
  
Since my so dear university teachers give me so much to read and work on to get my bachelor of Arts, I am not writting as much as I'd like to. But I try and do my best to write a little everyday... so I wish you enjoy this!  
  
To Clémentine, heart-sister (1982-1996), Marie-Dominique, my loving godmother (1950s-1996) and Raymonde, the greatest great-grand-mother ever (1912-2003). I miss you all so much. I think of you every day.  
  
Rated R for later chapters  
  
Chapter II: Reminiscences at the top of the Eiffel Tower  
  
Quand elle me prend dans ses bras, Qu'elle me parle tout bas, Je vois la Vie en Rose Elle me dit des mots d'amour Des mots de tous les jours Et ça m'fait quelque chose  
  
Il est entré dans mon coeur Une part de bonheur Dont je connais la cause C'est toi pour moi, Moi pour toi Dans la vie Tu me l'as dit, l'as juré pour la vie  
  
Et dès que je t'aperçois, Alors je sens en moi Mon coeur qui bat  
  
-La Vie en Rose (Louiguy, Piaf)  
  
A tear rolled down Ronald Weasley's cheek as he was looking at an old Wizard picture of Hermione, taken when they were at Hogwarts. In the picture, she was smiling and waving at him. He missed her smile. He sighed a heart-breaking sigh. He hadn't seen her smile for real for a long time. And even wizard pictures weren't great subsitutes.  
  
Ron bit his lower lip and then his upper one, swallowing back a sob. He shut his eyes hard, trying to push away the tears, but it was no use. He crossed his arms on the safety gate in front of him and leaned forward to put his head on them. He exhaled loudly and painfully. Hermione.  
  
Hermione!  
  
Ron was standing at the third and last floor of the Eiffel Tower. He could see the whole city of Paris and even further away. Hermione was somewhere down there, in one of the little streets or in one of the big boulevards. She was so close and yet out of reach. For now. He would search everywhere to find her. He would force her to talk to him if he had to. And it was likely he would have to.  
  
The wind slapped his face and he saw one of his tears flying away from his face, taken away by the wind. He did not care. He didn't care at all about it. He didn't want people to feel pity for him, but he wasn't ashamed of his grief. They could see his tears, anyway. He didn't give a damn about it. Were he alone, he'd scream her name and his despair at the top of his lungs. He would tell the whole city of Paris how unhappy, how desperate, how hopeless he was. And maybe Hermione would hear him. Maybe... But then again, she had walked away from him. She had ran out of that church, and had disapparated when he was only one inch away from her... How could she have done that? After all that time?  
  
She walked away from me. She didn't even say a word to me. We haven't seen one another in five years and she disapparated, leaving me alone. Was she so blind, so self-centered she couldn't see my tears?  
  
Yes, she had walked away from him, ran away from him. Disapparated from his sight. It wasn't fair. No, it wasn't fair at all. How could she do this to him? How could she do this to him twice? How could she walk away without an explanation when at both times he had seen love in her eyes right before she had left?  
  
When Ron had decided to go alone on a trip to Paris, he had wanted to think about his life. To try to find a way to stop making a mess of his life. His living nightmare. She had been haunting his life everyday for five years. Every single night, every single day, wherever he was. He had hoped Paris would help him forget Hermione Granger. Maybe some French prostitute would be good enough to chase her away from his thoughts for an hour.  
  
He snorted loudly. No British whore had been good enough to make him stop thinking about Hermione. And Merlin knew he had been with many. But no matter how pretty or gifted the woman would be, he would always end up screaming Hermione's name when he came.  
  
So pathetic.  
  
But what a trick destiny had played on him! He would never have guessed she was living in Paris. At first, when he had seen her inside the Sacré Coeur, he had thought she was only an apparition. He had imagined seeing her so many times before that he was sure she would evaporate like the other visions he had had. But she had stayed still. She had had that scared look in her eyes and he had understood that he really was facing her. It had been like a dream. A dream he had wished to come true for so many years. He had stopped looking for her long ago.  
  
Not so long ago. A year ago.  
  
He told the little inner voice to shut up and leave him alone. He looked up at the picture clutched in his hand and asked, in a shaky voice, "Why? Hermione, Why?"  
  
Hermione! Why??? I loved you so much... Why? Why leaving me after we both admitted our feelings for one another?  
  
He brought the picture to his mouth and kissed it, before rubbing it against his cheek. He had done this so many times before. He had charmed it so that it would never get damaged.  
  
He closed his eyes and remembered the last time he had laid his eyes on Hermione Granger. She had looked so beautiful, lying on her back in his bed, her breasts half-hidden by the sheets. Their love-making had given her a wonderful glow, and he had never seen her eyes looking so bright. Even brighter than when she was reading or proving she was right.  
  
She had completely changed his life that day, in more ways than she could know.  
  
No, she can't know how much she's changed my life. She left too soon to know that.  
  
He remembered kissing her breathless when she had admitted she was in love with him. He remembered taking her to his bed and making love to her. A feeling he would never forget. She had been so soft, so gentle, so loving. Neither were virgins, but neither had ever felt the way they had felt making love together. He remembered her telling him, begging him to love her. Begging him to make love to her. He had told her he loved her. She had told him she really felt a woman when she was in his arms. And they had fallen asleep in the other's arms. Now that he was thinking about it, there had been something desperate in her voice that night.  
  
He now realized it had been her way of saying goodbye. He had thought back then that that night would be a new beginning. The beginning of their life together. Of their loving life. He had let everything down the next day for her, only to find out that she was gone. He had first thought she had gone out buying something to eat, not really convinced. He did not know then that he would have to live five years without seeing her again.  
  
All the hurt, all the grief. He hadn't been the only one to hurt. She had hurt, her family, her friends. Eileen had hurt.  
  
He tilted his head back and cried out his sorrow, his hurt. At the top of the Eiffel Tower, Ronald Weasley shouted a desperate plea which very much sounded like the name 'Hermione'. 


	3. Rue Saint Vincent

La Vie en Rose  
  
Chapter 3: Rue Saint Vincent  
  
Hermione fled England, left her friends and family 5 years ago. Ron gave up searching for her but they bump into each other in Paris, where Hermione has been hiding for 1 year...  
  
*-*  
  
A woman was sitting alone in a corner of the living-room of her flat situated rue Saint Vincent, in Montmartre. Her head was resting on her bended knees, tears falling silently on her trousers. Thousands of images, of memories were flooding her head. She had not moved since she had apparated home the day before. Though lost in her thoughts, she could hear music coming from the outside, from the open window of her flat. A woman was singing in the street. Hermione knew that song. She had often thought it was the most beautiful one ever. A love song. The song of an eternal love, the song of a woman in love and telling everybody so.  
  
Hermione opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling, listening to the music with tears in her eyes. She mouthed the words she could barely hear but knew were the lyrics of the song.  
  
"Quand il me prend dans ses bras... Qu'il me parle tout bas... Je vois la Vie en Rose... Il me dit des mots d'amour, Des mots de tous les jours, Et ça m'fait quelque chose... Il est entré dans mon coeur, Une part de bonheur, Dont je connais la cause... C'est toi pour moi, Moi pour toi dans la vie, Tu me l'as dit, L'as juré pour la vie... Et dès que je t'aperçois, Alors je sens en moi mon coeur qui bat..."  
  
Yes, that's what, that's how love should be... Love should mean happiness, complete devotion to the other... Wanting the best for the other... Love shouldn't mean grief, pain, hurt... Love shouldn't mean fleeing away when you see the one person you love, because you fear you might be hurt again. But then again, what else could I do?  
  
She got up and went to look at the open window. The woman had red-hair that shone in the sun. For a moment, Hermione thought it was Ginny, Ron's sister, before realizing it was only Sophie, her only female friend in Paris. Sophie was working with Hermione. They were waitresses in a little café near the Place du Tertre, on la Butte de Montmartre. Sophie's hair wasn't really red. She liked to dye it and did it often. She had opted for that colour not long ago, and Hermione always hurt when she was looking at her. It was like seeing Ginny practically everyday. Like she was seeing a ghost everyday. The ghost of a life she had once lived.  
  
She could not stand hearing this song her friend sang again and again. A waitress's pay isn't that good, and Sophie liked singing in the streets to earn a little more money.  
  
Hermione sighed as she closed the window. She could still hear her friend singing in the distance. Sophie had a very beautiful voice, but why did she have to sing this song? Hermione could not help but think of Ronald Weasley whenever she heard la vie en rose. And since Sophie was singing it everyday at work, Hermione was becoming mad.  
  
French were way too romantic or desperate in their songs and now that she spoke an almost fluent French, she could understand the lyrics. Only her charming little accent betrayed her.  
  
Outside, Sophie began to sing L'Hymne à l'Amour.  
  
No, not that song... Why does Sophie keep on singing Edith Piaf's songs?  
  
She felt the tears forming in her eyes and tried to hold them back, in vain.  
  
"Non, non! Il ne faut pas!"  
  
She told herself not to cry, that crying wouldn't help her. She needed to think. Ron knew she was in France. But he did not know whether she was living in France or just visiting. However, he would probably guess she had been hiding in Paris and would try to see her again. He had wanted to talk to her. She had seen it. She had wanted to talk to him, too, to kiss him and to tell him that she still loved him, after five years of absence. But it would have been a very stupid thing to do. There was little chance Ron would be here on his own. Mrs. Weasley was probably there, too.  
  
Hermione tutted at herself. If she had to be angry at someone, she should be angry at herself, and not blame other women. But the truth was, Hermione was really angry at herself. She had been for five years.  
  
She shook her head and headed for the main door of her flat. She needed fresh air. Maybe going out for a walk would help her to think straight. She took her jacket and left.  
  
Once outside, she realized Sophie was gone. She hadn't heard her leave. The sun was bright. The sky was blue.  
  
A perfect day in a perfect world...  
  
She left la rue St Vincent and entered la rue des saules. She was walking slowly, trying to enjoy the freshness of the air, and the feable heat of the sun. Trying to forget that Ronald Weasley was in Paris and that she could bump into him at any moment. Paris was a big city, but if Ron wanted to see her, which Hermione instinctively knew he did, he'd start looking for her in the arrondissement of Montmartre, when he had first seen her. She did not know what she would do if she saw him again. Would she run away like she had done the day before? Or would she stay and say hello? Would she ask how Mrs. Weasley was doing? Would she want to kill her if the answer was 'yes, she's fine, she'd like to see you again'? Or would she want once more to kill herself if the answer was 'yes, she's fine, but I told her what we did and she's very angry and never wants to see you again?'  
  
Completely lost in her thoughts, Hermione found herself bumping into someone. For a moment, she feared it was Ron, but then she noticed it was a woman. She excused herself and walked to the place du Tertre. She saw one of the painter smile at her and she smiled back. She knew him. He had always been very nice to her , and had even asked her out a couple of times but she had always refused to go out with him, or with anybody.  
  
Aymeric was a tall, dark-haired blue-eyed man Hermione had met on her first day as a waitress in the café de la Galette. He often came there. He was not really a friend like Sophie was. He was just someone Hermione knew and liked to see from time to time. He put his brush down on the shelf of his easel, wiped his hands on his jeans and held out his hand for her to shake. Which she did.  
  
"Hey, Lily!"  
  
Lily... She was Lily now. This was how everybody called her in Paris. When she had left England, she had started telling people her name was Emily. They had all soon nicknamed her Lily. Hermione was way too uncommon for her to wear. She had fled England, and didn't want anybody to find her again, not after what she had done.  
  
Not that anyone would know, except Ron...  
  
Had she continued to wear her real first name, whoever would have wanted to find her would have had no problem. Emily was more common, especially in France, even though they wrote it 'Emilie'. She had had her hair cut shoulder-length. It was now curly, not bushy any longer. And she had stopped wearing her robes and now wore skirts or trousers and blouses. No one could have guessed that she had once been a witch, that she used to go to an enchanted school where she had been taught how to transfigurate objects into other ones. No one could possibly knew Emily Smith had once wanted to become an Auror to fight the Evil. After the death of Voldemort, killed by Harry in seventh year, some Death Eaters had continued their dark activities, wanting to bring another Dark Lord to the power. No doubt Harry was now fighting them, too, like he had fought Voldemort.  
  
"Earth to Lily?"  
  
Hermione looked at Aymeric as if she had just seen him.  
  
"I bet you were miles away from Montmartre, weren't you?" Aymeric asked her in French.  
  
"Yes," she said in French, too. "I really am sorry, Aymeric."  
  
"It's alright, ma belle. So, what brings you here, angel of the night?"  
  
"I only live two streets away. And don't call me like that."  
  
Aymeric smiled. Lily was so pretty when she was frowning.  
  
"Why not... It's true you haunt the streets of Montmartre, once the moon is high in the sky... I'd like to know how you can walk out in the streets for hours after working all day long! I f I didn't know you, I'd think you were some kinf of vampire or of werewolf."  
  
"It's magic. No, don't worry, I'm no vampire or werewolf. But I could tell you lots of things about them, though," she told him, smiling faintly.  
  
« I didn't know you had some interest into the paranormal. »  
  
Hermione could not help but smile. If only he knew... She then had a flashback. She was at Hogwarts, and Professor Lupin was teaching them how to fight the Dementors. It hurt her heart and she winced in pain. The memories really were physically painful to her. Aymeric saw she was now very pale. He put a hand on her forearm and asked, worried, "Lily? Lily? Lily, are you alright?"  
  
Hermione took a deep breath and tried to steady herself. She tried and gave a reassuring look to Aymeric.  
  
"It's alright. I'm alright. I just felt funny for a minute. But I'm okay."  
  
"I think you should go home, Lily. I really think you should lie down a moment."  
  
Hermione nodded, exhaling softly. Aymeric was right: she'd better go home and try to sleep. She was working the day after. Mrs. Dumoncel would not appreciate it if she didn't go to work.  
  
Hermione looked up into Aymeric's worried eyes. They were blue and for a moment, they reminded her of Ron. She ran a hand through her curly hair and said in a shaky voice, "Yes, you're right, Aymeric. I should go home and rest a little."  
  
"Do you want me to walk you home?"  
  
"No, no. There are lots of tourists today. any of them 'll want to have their portrait done. I don't want you to loose money because of me. "  
  
"Okay. But I'll see you tomorrow at the café de la Galette. Okay?"  
  
"Okay."  
  
She kissed him on the cheek and left, waving, goodbye.  
  
He watched her leave, his heart full of love for this woman, a love he knew he could not confess for he was - and would always be - only a friend for Emily Smith. Someone had broken Lily's heart, and if Aymeric ever found out who it was, he would kill the man. Once she was out of his sight, he turned back to his easel, and taking his brush, he started to paint the portrait of a twenty-five years old woman with curly hair and a heart-breaking sadness in her big brown eyes.  
  
On her way to her flat, Hermione Granger started to cry again. She would soon have to face Ronald Weasley again. She would soon have to face the reality. She would have to acknowledge the fact that she had left everything behind her, that she had left her friends, her family behind and had never even wrote to them to tell them she was alright. She did not know whether she would be strong enough or not. But she knew that the next time - if a next time was to be - she would see Ron, she would not run away. She would face him and tell him that she was sorry. That five years before she had made the biggest mistake of her life.  
  
She opened the door of her flat and entered it. She threw herself on her bed and cried herself to sleep.  
  
Little did she know that at the very same time, a man was shouting her name in a desperate plea from the top of the Eiffel Tower.  
  
***  
  
A/N: a huge thank you to my betas, and to my readers, especially those who reviewed the story... As you can see, this chapter was longer than the two first and gave us new elements of Hermione's (or should I say Lily's?) life as a Parisienne. Aymeric's a pure creation of my mind, and was named after my little brother, who was born in 1998. So, liked this chapter? Hated it? Happy with the story so far or disappointed? Tell me what you think! Review! Constructive criticism is welcome.  
  
Elais 


	4. Le Café de la Galette

Note: Le Café de la Galette is a pure creation of mine. Le Moulin de la Galette, a famous place in Montmartre does exist, but it's not at all where I imagined Hermione worked. But if you ever go to Paris, be sure to go and see le Moulin de la Galette, it's a very nice place. It's one of the two remaining mills of Montmartre (where there were hundreds in the past centuries).  
  
Vocabulary: Merde= shit; arrière-cuisine= scullery; a café: in French, this word can mean both the place where you go to drink something and the drink itself (a cup of coffee). The context will help you know which meaning I'm using, but I'm mostly talking about a café meaning the place except at the end of the chapter. You could not easily drink a coffee shop lol. ;-)  
  
Thanks to Ambergreene as usual. You could not read this story if she wasn't there. And thanks to all the readers and reviewers. I'm going through very hard times and your sweet comments really help me. I mean it.  
  
La Vie en Rose by Elais  
  
Chapter 4: Le Café de la Galette  
  
Woke up, fell out of bed,  
  
Dragged a comb across my head  
  
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,  
  
And looking up, I noticed I was late. Found my coat and grabbed my hat  
  
Made the bus in seconds flat  
  
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke  
  
Somebody spoke and I went into a dream -A Day in the Life (Lennon/ McCartney)  
  
Hermione woke up with a start. She was lying on her bed in her flat. She had fallen asleep on the covers. She looked up at the window and saw that a pale sun was shining. She ran a hand through her hair, slightly disoriented. She then remembered the events of the day before and sighed, swallowing hard. She rolled her head a few times, heard her neck bones crack, then glanced at her alarm-clock. When she saw it was ten o'clock in the morning, she bit her lower lip, muttered something that sounded like "Merde..." and then put her head in her hands. She was late for work. Again.  
  
Ronald Weasley didn't have to be in Paris to make a chaos of her life. Thinking about it, she had been the one who created all that havoc.  
  
She shook her head. She was already late, she didn't have time to think about the past, however close it was these days.  
  
She shut her eyes tight, dismissing the memory. She got up and rushed to the desk, where her telephone was. She rang her boss, Mrs. Dumoncel, but Sophie answered. Hermione told her she would be at le Café de la Galette in ten minutes. She took a quick shower, put on clean clothes, drank a cup of tea and was out of her flat ten minutes later. It only took her two minutes to go from la Rue Saint Vincent, where she lived, to la Rue Norvins, where she worked.  
  
A bell rang as she entered the café. Sophie was at her usual place behind the counter. Mrs. Dumoncel was serving a cup of coffee to a customer. Hermione smiled faintly, looking at her boss. But Mrs. Dumoncel smiled broadly at her. She had always liked Lily. She reminded her of her diseased daughter, Juliette. She took the money the customer was giving her and walked to Hermione.  
  
"Late again, Lily?" she asked, caressing Hermione's face in a motherly way.  
  
Hermione lowered her gaze, feeling guilty.  
  
"I'm sorry, Madame Dumoncel, I really am... I fell asleep and forgot to set my alarm-clock."  
  
"It's all right, dear... Go take your apron and help Sophie now, will you?"  
  
"Sure, Madame Dumoncel."  
  
Hermione smiled at her and walked to the back of the café, into the arrière- cuisine where she left her bag and coat, and took her apron which was hanging from a nail sticking out of the bare wall. She put the apron on, and, turning around, she saw her reflection in the mirror hanging on the back of the yellowish door of the arrière-cuisine. She was so pale. Could this girl really be her? Was it Hermione Granger? She shut her eyes tight for a few seconds, then opened them again. The ghostly girl was still there, with her pale face and her very red lips. Hermione Granger did not exist any longer, she reminded herself. She was now Emily Smith. Someone that everybody nicknamed Lily, without knowing that anytime she heard the name Lily, it made her think of her former best friend, Harry, and eventually, to Ronald Weasley, her former... something.  
  
The reflection of Emily Smith suddenly disappeared as someone opened the door.  
  
Sophie entered the room and closed the door behind her. She smiled to Hermione and then said, "My God, Lily, you're as pale as a vampire! You could easily pass for Dracula's fiancée or something."  
  
Hermione tried to smile but her heart flinched when Sophie called her Lily. Instead, she said, "I know. I did not sleep very well. That's all."  
  
Sophie stared at her with a strange look in her eyes. She sighed, ran a hand through her dyed red hair and said to Hermione, "Don't bullshit me, Lily. My God, what happened to you?" Sophie asked, stepping closer to Hermione, genuinely worried.  
  
Damn Sophie and her ability to guess whenever there was something wrong. Hermione played with the knot of her apron, then answered, "Nothing's wrong, Sophie, I just didn't wake up on time. It happens to everyone."  
  
Sophie took a step closer and caressed Hermione's hair. Lily had been her friend for a year, and the sad look in her eyes had never disappeared. Sophie had tried so hard to help her, but Lily had never really let her in. She had decided to be very nice to her, helpful and always present, hoping that someday Lily would open up and smile a real happy smile, not the shadow of a smile.  
  
"Yes, it happens to everyone," Sophie agreed, "but not everyone looks as ghostly as you do, Lily. I thought you would trust me by now. Why don't you tell me what happened? Because I can see on your face something happened to you, something that turned you upside down."  
  
Hermione stared at the floor as if it was the most interesting thing in the world. She whispered, "It's not a matter of trust, Sophie, I told you that before... It's just that... that I can't tell you what's bothering me.... I'm sorry. I just... can't."  
  
Sophie licked her lips, and asked, a bit embarassed, "Are you taking drugs?"  
  
Hermione stared at Sophie in disbelief. Could she really believe she was a drug-addict?  
  
"What?? No! No, Sophie, I am not taking any drugs."  
  
"I was only wondering. I like you a lot, Lily, and I hate seeing you so... unhappy. So lost. I mean, you've always been a little bit lost, melancholic, but these days, you are..."  
  
"I am as fine as I can be," Hermione cut in. "Sophie, I like you a lot too, but please, stay away from this."  
  
"Stay away from what, exactly?"  
  
Hermione looked at the yellowish walls and said painfully, knowing she would hurt one of the only persons who really cared for her in Paris, "Stay away from my private life. Mind your own business."  
  
Sophie looked hurt. A muscle in her jaw clenched as she turned around to open the door.  
  
"All right, Lily. I won't bother you anymore."  
  
Hermione exhaled deeply, painfully.  
  
"Sophie!"she called her friend back.  
  
"What?" Sophie snapped.  
  
"If I'm not telling you... what's... 'bothering' me... it's because... because I care for you. You don't know me, Sophie. My life really is a mess. You've already guessed so, haven't you?"  
  
"Please, get to the point," Sophie said, looking at the ceiling, tears threatening to roll down her cheeks.  
  
"I haven't always been some clone of Dracula's fiancée. I used to be... someone else. Someone happy. Someone succesful, who had everything for her. Everything but one." She paused. "Years ago, I made a mistake. A huge mistake. The biggest mistake I could ever have committed. I hurt everybody, including myself. I ran away from all my troubles, but they found me again. I'm going to get hurt -- again. I'm already hurting. I don't want you to be caught in the middle of my troubles. I don't want you to get hurt, too. You really were a great friend to me, Sophie. But, believe me, my days in Paris are numbered." She paused again. "But I owe an apology to someone. I'll apologize before leaving. And I'm apologizing to you, too."  
  
Sophie was silent for a moment, staring at the nail on which Hermione used to hang her apron. She breathed in deeply and turned towards the door again. Her hand was on the handle when she said, "You were right about one thing, Lily. I don't know you."  
  
She lowered her hand and exited the arrière-cuisine.  
  
Hermione stood in the middle of the room, alone. She ran her hand across her face and rested it on her mouth. She was biting her lips very hard. She could taste blood in her mouth. Tears appeared in her eyes and she tried to swallow back a sob. In vain. ***  
  
Aymeric Beaumont entered le café de la Galette at ten thirty in the morning, fingering as usual the Swiss knife he always kept in his pocket. He was in a good mood. He had finished Lily's portrait and wanted to ask her to come and see it after work.  
  
He said hello to everyone as he entered the café. He knew practically everybody; there was Mr. Florian, who was sipping his coffee, sitting at a table near a window. Mr. Tristan was drinking his usual hot chocolate.  
  
Mr. Tristan had been coming to this café for thirty years, had always sat at the same table, at exactly ten twenty in the morning, and had always drank his hot chocolate while reading the newspaper. Sometimes, he would look at the window, lost in his thoughts, or looking as though he was waiting someone who never came.  
  
Aymeric saw Sophie washing dirty coffee cups in a sink. She looked sad and furious at the same time. He was about to talk to her when Mrs. Dumoncel greeted him.  
  
"Bonjour, Aymeric!"  
  
"Oh, Bonjour, Madame Dumoncel," smiled Aymeric.  
  
"Hot milk?"  
  
"You know me too well..." he answered with his lovely grin.  
  
Mrs. Dumoncel laughed and went to take a cup and fill it with hot milk while Aymeric sat on a stool near the counter. He watched the café. It was so familiar. He liked this place a lot. He had liked it even more the day he had met Lily there.  
  
The door bell rang and Aymeric turned his head to see who had entered the café. It was a stranger, a tall, red-haired man with shadows under his eyes, eyes which were filled with sadness, the same kind of sadness, of despair Aymeric had seen in Lily's eyes. The man really looked miserable, lost in his thoughts. Aymeric could not help but feel pity for this man.  
  
The stranger went to the far-end of the café and sat at a table, looking on the verge of tears and really, really exhausted, as if he had been walking in the streets all night long, which he had, but Aymeric would never know that. He folded his arms on the table and rested his head on them. Aymeric saw that his shoulders were shaking, the man was crying.  
  
Mrs. Dumoncel walked to the man and patted his left shoulder. He looked up, his blue eyes filled with tears. Always motherly, Mrs. Dumoncel caressed his cheek and said with her gaze that everything was going to be all right. He thanked her with a faint smile. Mrs. Dumoncel smiled back and asked him what he wanted. The man tried to tell her that he did not speak French, but Mrs. Dumoncel could not speak English. They tried to communicate with hands, but it was no use. She made a sign with her hand and the stranger stopped talking. He had understood the lady had asked him to wait. He heard her call in French,  
  
"Lily! Lily! Come here please! There's a foreign customer who's speaking English! We need you!"  
  
Mrs. Dumoncel smiled once again at the red-haired man, patted his shoulder one last time and walked away. Soon, Aymeric saw Lily emerge from the back of the café. The stranger had his back to her. Lily looked as though she had been crying. She, too, looked exhausted and very pale. Aymeric wanted to walk to her and ask her if she was right but she was on duty.  
  
Hermione took a pencil and a small notepad out of the pocket of her white apron. She glanced at Mrs. Dumoncel who made a sign with her head towards the booth the stranger was sitting in. Hermione walked to it and, without looking at the customer, asked him in English, "What do you want, sir?"  
  
Ron immediately recognised Hermione's voice. He looked up in surprise and saw that it was her. He closed his exhausted eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, she was still there, waiting for an answer. He sighed and said, in a tired voice, "I'd really, really like an explanation."  
  
Hermione jumped in surprise. She looked down and when she saw him, closed her eyes too, not believing it was him.  
  
"It's me, Hermione. I am here. I am real," he said, understanding her trouble. He put his hand on her arm and said, "You can't really disapparate in the middle of the place you're working in, right? So I think it's time for us to talk! You owe me that, don't you?"  
  
Hermione looked around the café and saw that Aymeric was watching them. She glanced down at Ron and said, "I know. But not here."  
  
"Where then?"  
  
She wrote something on her notepad, tore the leaf away and gave it to him. She told him not to look at it now, but once he was outside.  
  
"It's the address for our rendez-vous."  
  
"Promise me you'll be there," Ron pleaded.  
  
"I promise. I swear," she said with all honesty. She then spoke louder, catching Mrs. Dumoncel's attention, "A café and a croissant? All right sir!" She added, lowering her voice again, "Please, just have some breakfast, then leave!"  
  
Ron nodded, and Hermione went to greet another customer who had just entered the café.  
  
A/N: Please, review, even if you hated it. 


	5. Au Cimetière du PèreLachaise

La Vie en Rose  
  
A/N: Edith Piaf is indeed buried at the cimetière du Père-Lachaise.  
  
Un cimetière: cemetary  
  
Chapter 5: Au Cimetière du Père-Lachaise  
  
Ron was standing near the grave of Edith Piaf, in the cimetière du Père- Lachaise. He looked once again at the piece of paper he was holding in his hand, the piece of paper Hermione had given him earlier that day, when he had seen her at the café de la Galette. This very piece of paper was the only proof he had that he had really seen the woman he had been in love with for so long. Seeing her in the church or in the café could have been tricks his mind would have played on him. It had done that before. But it was her handwriting on the paper, she had written it in front of him, she had given it to him. She had written that she would meet him at five in the afternoon in front of the grave of Edith Piaf in the Père-Lachaise cemetary. But would she come? It was already five past ten.  
  
Hermione was standing behind a tree, a few metres away from Ron. She had been hiding behind this tree for ten minutes, watching him. He was still the gorgeous man she had left five years before. He hadn't changed much. She sighed, trying once again to gather her courage, and go and talk to him. She had told herself she would go, she would do it, she would end her misery and finally tell Ron goodbye for good. For what else could she say to him but 'I'm sorry' and 'Goodbye'? They had made a mistake, she had made a mistake, had destroyed their friendship. She had to have the decency to make proper excuses to him. And to her, if she knew... Had Ron told her?  
  
Ron had her back to her. She walked silently to him. He heard her feet on the gravel and turned round. She was standing four feet away from him. His hair was shining in the pale sun. They looked at each other in silence, taking in the changes in each other, changes brought by five years of absence. Ron thought Hermione was even more beautiful than before, but, Merlin, she looked so ghostly.  
  
She licked her lips, took a deep breath and a step further and said, "Hi."  
  
"Hi," he replied, his voice croacky.  
  
There was an awkward moment. A silence that lasted more than a minute. He was the one to break it this time.  
  
"I wondered if you would come."  
  
"I almost didn't."  
  
She ran a hand through her hair, watched by Ron, who was mesmerized by this sight. He so wanted to take her in his arms, to kiss her, but he also wanted answers. Explanations.  
  
"I hid behind this tree for ten minutes," she admitted, pointing to the tree, her throat tight with sadness. She swallowed painfully, not knowing he was doing the same thing at the very same time.  
  
Silence. They both stared at their feet. She heard him breathe painfully.  
  
"I hope you're not going to Disapparate like the last time," he said, a tear rolling down his cheek. He didn't even bother to wipe it away. He wanted her to see he was aching.  
  
"No," she whispered in honesty, shaking her head. "I'm not going to ran away this time, Ron."  
  
Ron... it was so good to hear her call him Ron. Merlin, had he missed her voice!  
  
"Why here? A cemetary?" he asked, looking around him. "Are you trying to convey some sort of symbollical message here?"  
  
"No. It's a place I often go to." She turned and faced the grave they were standing in front of. "Have you ever heard that song, 'La Vie en Rose'?"  
  
He turned and faced the grave too.  
  
"The French one, you mean?"  
  
She nodded. She felt the wind caress her face lightly. The sun was setting down. Setting down on both the cemetary and their relationship, this time for good and for ever. And acknowledging it for real was the most painful thing she had ever done. Even more painful than leaving London.  
  
"Yeah, I think I've heard it once or twice. Don't know much what it says in French though," Ron answered. "Why?"  
  
Hermione pointed to the grave. "Edith Piaf. She sung that song. I like it a lot." She closed her eyes and added, almost to herself, "I don't see la vie en rose, though."  
  
"Do you think I do?" he asked, more bitterly than he had intended to. He sighed and wiped his face with his hand. "Excuse me. I'm sorry, I really am.".  
  
He sounded exhausted. As if he hadn't slept for years. She laughed dryly, mirthlessly. "No, you're right to be angry."  
  
He closed his eyes, trying to slow down the flood of emotions which was invading his head. He buried it in his hands. Taken aback, Hermione stared at him silently for what seemed eternity. Eventually, she put her hand on his head, his darling head that she loved so much, that she had always loved, even back in their first year at Hogwarts. She caressed it lightly; it was shaking. Feeling her light touch, he looked up from behind his hands. There were tears in his eyes. They were pleading.  
  
Time stood still. The wind once again caressed her cheeks, her hair, and she was fascinated by the way it made Ron's red hair move. She took a deep breath. She still cared for him... And he still cared for her, she could see it in his eyes... But... No, she couldn't do that. She had to say no. They couldn't. No, they couldn't. Not again.  
  
She slowly removed her hand from his head. Quick as a cat, he caught it and kissed it. She shivered and looked down, trying to free her hand.  
  
"Ron... Please, no... Don't do that," she pleaded.  
  
He let go of her hand, staring at the floor, not daring to look her in the eyes. He didn't know she had felt like she was dying inside when he had let go of her hand.  
  
"What are we doing now?" he asked.  
  
"Why don't we walk back to the entrance?" she suggested. "It's getting dark."  
  
He nodded in agreement. They walked past Edith Piaf's grave and many others before he finally spoke again.  
  
"So... You've been hiding in Paris for 5 years?"  
  
She flinched at his choice of words, but then innerly agreed with him that that was what she had been doing: hiding.  
  
"No," she answered a few seconds later. "I lived in Italy for a year first. Then I moved to Greece before coming to France."  
  
"How long have you been in France?"  
  
"A little over a year."  
  
They were walking slowly, side by side, but not touching one another. Hermione had her hands behind her back. She was twisting them. Ron had his hands in the pockets of his black jeans. He had finally learned how to dress properly in the Muggle Universe, she noticed.  
  
"Where are you staying?" she asked.  
  
"In a little hotel near the Arc of something.... How do they call that in French, actually? I've forgotten."  
  
"L'Arc de Triomphe," she stated.  
  
"Yes, that's it. Very beautiful place."  
  
"Indeed."  
  
She twisted her hands once more. She wanted to ask him a question very important for her, but didn't know how he would react. She swallowed hard and then finally asked, "How is Harry?"  
  
Ron didn't look at her; he wasn't surprised. He knew she would want to know how Harry was doing. He had been her best friend after all.  
  
"Harry's fine. He and Ginny got married two years ago. I was his best man. Ginny wanted you to be her bridesmaid, but..." He paused, leaving his sentence unfinished. "Anyway, she's pregnant now. They're very happy to become parents."  
  
"They're married? I don't know why I'm not surprised." She smiled.  
  
"I was. I didn't know, would never have guessed that Harry was having feelings for my little sister."  
  
She laughed. "You were so blind about him. I always knew he liked Ginny more than he would say."  
  
"Anyway, he's now officially part of the Weasley family, even though Ginny's last name is now Potter."  
  
Hermione's smile disappeared.  
  
"What about your family?"  
  
Ron was silent for some time.  
  
"They're all fine. We gather every month or so, as often as we can." Silence. "They miss you. We don't talk about you much, though..." Another silence. "I became very close to your parents. We don't talk about you much either. They hurt too much." Pause. "I hurt too much."  
  
Hermione stopped walking and looked at him right in the eye. She was sad, but anger was also flashing in her eyes. Did he believe she hadn't missed him, she hadn't missed them all? That her heart hadn't break when she had decided it was best for everybody if she left?  
  
"I find it very surprising that Mrs. Weasley allows you to visit my parents," she snapped. She sighed and quickly added, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you that, I shouldn't have been talking about her that way..."  
  
"No, indeed, you shouldn't have," said Ron angrily. "Why do you think my mother would not want me to visit your parents? She likes them very much, too. We all needed to comfort one another, and to be comforted, when you left us without an explanation."  
  
Hermione shook her head. Ron was definitely not going to make this easy for her.  
  
"No, Ron, I wasn't talking about Mrs. Arthur Weasley. I was talking about Mrs. Ronald Weasley."  
  
"What are you talking ab..." Ron's face fell.  
  
She didn't know. Of course she didn't know. How could she? She had left before...  
  
He felt the tears sting his eyes. He bit his lower lip hard. Hermione saw his trouble, but didn't say anything. The sun had set. It was now dark in the cemetary, except for the lamp posts which were casting a gloomy light every three metres or so.  
  
"You don't know..." he stated aloud. "You don't know..."  
  
"Don't know what?" Hermione asked.  
  
"How could you have known? My owls never found you."  
  
She lowered her face. When she looked up again, Ron could only see one of her eyes; the other was hidden by a lock of hair. She licked her dry lips and whispered, "They found me, Ron. I sent them back. without opening the letters. I fought it was for the best, after... and you were to... Anyway, I sent them back, then cast a spell on myself so that I could not be found by any owl you or the others would send. That actually was the last time I used my wand. That is, until the other day..."  
  
She lowered her head once again.  
  
"Your parents looked for you... Asked the pleasemen to find you back."  
  
"I knew they would do that."  
  
"They said they could not do much. They looked for you. We thought you had been abducted or something... Then I realized... I realized... you had left willingly." There was reproach in his voice. "I told your parents that that was what I thought, and they could not do anything but agree with me."  
  
"Did you tell them..."  
  
"I had to, Hermione," he cut in. "They had to understand that you would not let anyone find you back if you had decided not to be found. I managed to convince them. But I only stopped looking for you a little over a year ago. When you were closer to England than you had ever been for three years."  
  
His last sentence was barely a whisper.  
  
Hermione was crying softly. She had made herself the promise that she would not cry in front of Ron but she could not help herself. She asked the question that was burning her lips.  
  
"Did you tell Eileen?"  
  
Ron looked up straight into her eyes. They were full of shameless tears he would not, would never wipe in front of her. His face was however expressionless. All of a sudden, it twisted in agony, wrinkles of pain and sorrow invading it. He cried out loud, big, pearly tears rolling down his distorted face, getting into the little cracks the nervous fit had created.  
  
"Ron?" Hermione asked, frightened, uncertain.  
  
"Eileen's dead. She's dead, " he cried, burying his head in his hands again.  
  
Hermione took a step back, shaken. Eileen... Dead? How? When? She shook her head in disbelief.  
  
"No, no... She can't be... She's not..."  
  
"She is. She's dead. Eileen's dead, Hermione. I killed her."  
  
Hermione was shocked. She had trouble breathing, she felt like she was going to fall down on the floor any minute now.  
  
"What? Ron...."  
  
She was now crying too.  
  
"I killed her, Hermione. I killed her."  
  
Her nostrils were flaring in disbelief. The wind was slapping harder. Her hair was flying around her head. Rain started to fall slowly. She was looking at him, scared. What had he done?  
  
His sobs were becoming deeper and more painful. Painful to hear and painful to go through. The wind made a mess of his hair.  
  
"Ron..." she tried. Her voice was shaky.  
  
A sob answered her.  
  
"Ron, did you... did you..." The words seemed not to want to leave her mouth. "Ron!" she tried once again.  
  
He looked at her. Her mouth was trembling. Her eyes were filled with tears. She had a look of disbelief on her face. He saw her open her mouth many times without speaking until, finally, "Ron..." she stammered. "You didn't... You didn't... kill her?!"  
  
It was both a question and a statement.  
  
"I did! 'Mione, I did!"  
  
He fell on his knees, his hands pulling at his hair. Hermione tried to prevent him from hurting himself, but it was no use.  
  
"Well," he added through his sobs, " I didn't kill her with my own hands. My words killed her. My words killed her."  
  
Hermione fell on her knees too, and tried to take his hands which were still pulling at his hair. He let her do, and locked eyes with her. They were both crying without restraint.  
  
"What do you mean?" Hermione urged.  
  
Ron closed his eyes at the memories. He let his face fall into her lap, like a child. He had hold this to himself for too long.  
  
"She... She... She... "  
  
"Tell me," Hermione asked gently, her voice full of concern and pain. She was caressing his hair, kissing it lovingly, looking at the graves around them as her tears were falling on his head along with the rain.  
  
"She... She... comitted... suicide... She hung herself in the shop."  
  
Hermione stiffened. She feared what he was going to say.  
  
"Why?" she managed to ask.  
  
Ron raised his head. There was love and shame in hie eyes when he answered, "After... after... that night... The very next day... I went to see Eileen, thinking you had gone to your flat... and I cancelled our wedding. I cancelled it on the day it was due to happen!"  
  
Her fearful eyes looked at him as she took in the news. He had cancelled his wedding with Eileen...  
  
"Why?"  
  
Ron looked hurt.  
  
"Why? You ask me why? Because I loved you! Because I love you! Because I thought you loved me too! Because I wanted to start a new life with you, like I had always wanted but had never dared to express the wish aloud. Because I knew this was time to stop pretending being in love with Eileen when the only person I was, the only person I had ever truly been in love with was you!"  
  
Hermione hid her face in her hands. What had she done?  
  
You killed Eileen. You killed Eileen. You killed Eileen, her mind kept on telling her.  
  
"No! No!" she said aloud, shaking her head in denial.  
  
She got up. Ron was still on his knees in front of her, sobbing. She looked around them. The cemetary was deserted. She was so cold. So cold.  
  
You killed Eileen.  
  
"NO!" Hermione repeated, louder. This time, Ron looked up at her, but could not really distinguish her figure: the tears and the rain were blinding him. He did not see her frightened look, her mad, guilty eyes. But he saw her begin to step back, still facing him.  
  
He tried to get up but could not.  
  
"Hermione!" he called, foreshadowing what was going to happen. The sound of running feet proved him right. It echoed in the empty cemetary. When he looked up again, he could only see her blurred figure running away in the distance. He hit the ground hard with both his fists, water rebounding on his already drenched body.  
  
"Hermione!" he howled.  
  
This time, Hermione heard his desperate call, but did not turn round. She knew what she had to do.  
  
A/N: So, liked this chapter? You've been so nice with your reviews I thought it was time to give you all some Hr/ R interaction... Thank you all so much. See you next chapter... the 'unofficial' (but maybe actual title of it) is 'Five years before...' Yes, you'll get to really know what happened in London 5 years ago... Stay tuned! Elais 


	6. Souvenirs d'Angleterre

La Vie en Rose by Elais  
  
CHAPTER 6: Souvenirs d'Angleterre  
  
A/N: un souvenir (here): a memory So the translation of the chapter title would be Memories of England  
  
Thanks to Ambergreene as usual. And thanks to Angelfeather and Steviep. They'll know why.  
  
Five Years Before  
  
Ron said goodbye to Harry and his friends as they were leaving Ron's place after Ron's stag party. Once he was alone, Ron walked to his armchair, slightly drunk, taking on his way the picture of his fiancée. He threw himself on the armchair.  
  
Ron and Eileen had been engaged for one year then. They had met at the Leaky Cauldron in 1998, after Ron's final year at Hogwarts. Eileen was three years older than him, and was working in a bookshop in Diagon Alley. He had liked her as soon as he had seen her. Little by little, he had fallen in love with her, but no matter how sweet and wonderful Eileen was, she could not take Hermione's place in Ron's heart. Ron had loved Hermione since he was 13, but, by fear of being rejected, of not being good enough for her, he had never told his friend his feelings for her were not only friendly ones.  
  
Ron, Harry and Hermione were training to become Aurors at the time. There was still need for Aurors then, though Harry had finally defeated Voldemort for ever in his eighteenth year. But many were those who wanted another Dark Lord to rise. For some, like the Malfoy family, being on the side of an evil and powerful man was full of advantages.  
  
But there were no Malfoys now, and few were the Death Eaters. Lucius and Draco had been killed some months before Ron had met Eileen. Harry and Hermione had decided to remain Aurors, whereas Ron had decided to work with his father for the Ministry of Magic.  
  
Ron looked at the picture of the pretty blonde girl.  
  
Eileen.  
  
He loved her.  
  
Of course, he loved her, he was going to marry her the next day. She was going to become Mrs. Ronald Weasley. Ron could not help but sigh as he remembered how much he had wanted Hermione to be his wife, even though he had never told her what he was feeling for her. He was happy to get married but there was this nagging voice inside of him which kept telling him, 'You're not getting married to the woman you want to marry. No matter how hard you try to convince yourself you're in love with Eileen, you know that you will never feel real, pure love for anyone but Hermione. You are using Eileen because you can't have Hermione.'  
  
"Shut up!" Ron told the nagging voice.  
  
But what it had said was so true. Ron would never love anyone like he loved Hermione. He knew that. He could feel it in his heart. She would be the one forever. Was he being unfair to Eileen, pretending she was the love of his life, the one woman he wanted to spend his life with? Of course it was unfair.  
  
Ron felt so ill at ease. He knew it was unfair to marry Eileen, when he was thinking about Hermione all the time. He should never have proposed to Eileen.  
  
Never.  
  
But she loved him. No one could deny it. She was always looking at him as if he was some sort of hero, some sort of wonderful man. He felt he was someone worthy when he was in her arms. She was good for his ego. Hermione... Hermione loved him, too, he knew that, but, at the best, she loved him as a brother, the brother she had never had. At Hogwarts, she had found two: Harry and Ron. She would never love him the way he loved her. How could she?  
  
But Ron was feeling guilty. No matter how much he liked, perhaps even loved Eileen - he was not sure about anything but his love for Hermione right now - he could not help but feel guilty knowing he was marrying her for the wrong reasons. He loved Hermione, but did not want to spend his lifetime waiting for her. He wanted to be married for he was sure she would marry one day, too, and he knew it would break his heart the day she would tell him, "Ron, I am getting married! He's so wonderful, I love him so much..." Perhaps being already married would help him. Maybe, in the end, Eileen would take Hermione's place in his heart? Or was he just marrying her because he was selfish; because he was afraid of growing old alone? Or was he doing this to hurt Hermione, to make her react in some unconscious way?  
  
Ron shook his head. It was too late anyway. Too late to cancel a wedding... to cancel a planned life with someone who was counting on you. Someone who loved you...  
  
But will Eileen be happy with me in the long term? Or will she find out one day I'm in love with someone else and reproach me for having married her? Will life always be such a struggle between heart and reason? I don't want Eileen to hurt because of me, but what if it was already too late? What if I have started something that will end in misery? he thought. Merlin, I wish I knew what I should do.  
  
The nagging voice in the back of his head started talking again, 'You know what you have to do... But you're too much of a coward to do what you have to do... Still... How can you even think you would EVER be good enough for someone like Hermione Granger? You really are the king of wishful thinking, Ronald Weasley.'  
  
"Shut the fuck up!!!"  
  
He was brave, he would never have been a Gryffindor if he wasn't brave. He wasn't a coward! He had faced death many times to help Harry... Hadn't he?  
  
He ran a hand through his hair. He felt so lost, so lonely... Why couldn't Hermione love him? Everything would have been easier. But why blame it on her? Why couldn't he NOT have fallen in love with her, instead? But somewhere, deep inside, a voice spoke from his heart, a voice which told him: 'It is better to have known what love is, even if the person doesn't love you back, than to live a whole life never knowing what it feels to be in love.'  
  
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. Ron sighed and got up, and put back the picture of Eileen on the mantelpiece as he walked to the door.  
  
Hermione was standing on the threshold. It was raining outside and she was drenched to the bones. She looked extremely sad and nervous.  
  
"Hi," she simply said, playing with a lock of her wet hair.  
  
Ron looked at her, dumbfounded. What was she doing in front of his door, at 2 in the morning on a Friday night, all wet because of the rain? It had to be very important, if she had not been able to wait for the next day to tell him whatever she had to tell him. After all, as paradoxal as it was, wasn't she one of Ron's witnesses at his wedding?  
  
Merlin, I'm such a sick guy. The woman I love is the witness for my wedding with another woman. What the hell is wrong with me?  
  
Another thought struck his mind. Why was she completely wet? She must have been walking for a good time outside to be this wet. Why hadn't she apparated right in front of his door instead? Ron let his thoughts wander until he realized she was still outside, waiting for an answer.  
  
"Hi," Ron repeated, for once at a loss for words.  
  
"Can I come in?" She sniffled.  
  
"Er..., sure, sure, come in," he said, as he opened the door wide to let her in.  
  
He watched her take her wand from the inside pocket of her mac. She whispered something, and was completely dry the next second, as Ron was closing the door. She stood there, in the middle of his living-room, looking at him, not saying a word. He saw her swallow hard. He was still standing next to the door, his hand on the doorknob. She ran her hand through her hair, as he had done a few seconds earlier, before walking to the fireplace, to warm herself up a bit. She was dry, but cold.  
  
Ron slowly walked to her. Something seemed to be bothering her, and he did not like it. He hated it when Hermione looked sad or distressed, and when Hermione was mute, she was either angry or sad. She did not look angry at all, so Ron guessed she was sad.  
  
"Hermione, wh...."  
  
She suddenly turned round to face him. She put her fingers on his mouth to shut him up. He had to resist the urge of kissing them.  
  
"Shhh..." She lowered her lashes very slowly, before lifting them agin, not seductively, but Ron thought that was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. He had trouble concentrating on what she was saying. "Ron... I have come tonight because I want to tell you something. Something important. But you'll hate me as soon as I tell you what I have to say."  
  
She removed her fingers from his mouth and trained her brown eyes on his. He looked at her quizzically, and tried to take her hand in his, but she wouldn't let him. He was hurt, but did not tell her so. Instead, he said, "Hermione, you know I could never hate you."  
  
He was honest. He knew it. She knew it too. She had to. Hadn't they known each other for nine years?  
  
"I hope so, Ron."  
  
"How can you even doubt it?"  
  
She did not answer. She was silent for a moment, facing the fireplace again.  
  
"First of all, I want to ask you something," she said.  
  
"Go on," he said, stepping closer.  
  
"Did... Did... you have a nice time at your stag party?"  
  
Ron was taken aback.  
  
"What? Er... Er.... Y.. Yes."  
  
She turned round and took a step towards him. They were now only a feet away.  
  
"Did... did Harry hire a girl?"  
  
"What???"  
  
There were tears in her eyes. Ron did not know what to do. Hermione was acting so strange.  
  
"Hermione, are you alright? You're acting so strange."  
  
There was concern in his voice.  
  
"Did. Harry. hire. a. girl?" she repeated.  
  
"You mean a... strip-girl?"  
  
He heard her swallow hard again, then said, "Yes."  
  
"No. I mean, no, he didn't. But..."  
  
"Oh, Ron!"  
  
She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. He wrapped his arms around her waist, enjoying the feeling of holding her so close to him. She was wetting his shirt with her tears. He caressed her hair and breathed in her sweet scent. But he could also smell something else... The smell of alcohol. Or was it the smell of the alcohol he had drunk that was lingering on him? He smelled of alcohol, he knew that, but he also knew Hermione smelled of alcohol, too.That was odd. Hermione never drank.  
  
He tried to say something but she told him not to speak for now. She only wanted to hold him tight.  
  
However, if she carried on holding him like that, he would not be able to control himself. He caressed her hair lovingly. It felt so right, as if it had been written centuries before that he would be the one to have the right to hold her this way.  
  
"Ron, I knew it was a stupid thing to ask, but I... I wanted to give you... I am so sorry I came here tonight," she said, still crying, her head against his chest, her hands now around his waist, "I shouldn't have, but I wanted to tell you something... I had to... I know you're going to get married tomorrow and I am really glad you have found someone you love, and, and she loves you too, I mean everybody can see it, and she's such a nice girl, I'm very fond of her... but... but I needed to tell you that... to tell you that... that... I... I love you."  
  
She was speaking very fast, either afraid she would not have the nerve to say what she wanted to say if she talked more slowly, or afraid that he would cut her mid-sentence.  
  
He pushed her away slowly to look at her in the eyes. She wouldn't let him.  
  
Still having one arm around her waist, he lifted her chin to make eye contact with her. She was crying softly. For a moment, he did not know what to do, what to say. She loved him... Was it true? And then, all of a sudden, he knew exactly what he had to do.  
  
He kissed her tears away. Kissed her cheeks, her eyelids. She let him do it. The hand that was resting on her waist a few seconds before was now playing with her hair as he drew his lips closer to the corner of her mouth to kiss another tear. She turned her head and pulled his towards hers, and kissed him fully on the lips. She was hungry for his kiss and he was hungry for hers. It was only a matter of nanoseconds before both his hands were on her head, trying to pull her mouth even closer than it already was. She let his tongue invade her mouth, discover the innermost recesses of it. He then let her do the same.  
  
He reached for her neck and kissed her soft skin, his hands embarking on a journey of their own, sliding along her curves, her belly, her buttocks. She was moaning softly in his ear, burrying her hands in his hair.  
  
"Ron... Ron... Oh, Ron, be mine for tonight..." she whispered, almost pleaded. "I wanted... I wanted to be yours tonight. Be mine tonight..."  
  
Even if only for tonight, she thought, kissing him again.  
  
He groaned and his hands found the knot of the belt of her mac. He undid it and took the mac off. She was wearing a jumper and a skirt under it. He let his hands slid to her buttocks and pushed at them, lifting her up. He tried to walk them to his bedroom, but they hit a wall instead. That did not prevent them from kissing even more. He caressed her thighs and she played with his hair. Ron's trousers were becoming way too tight. He was about to open them when Hermione's hands found their way to his buttocks. He moaned in pleasure as she tried to bring him closer. She felt his erection through her knickers and his trousers.  
  
"Ron..."  
  
She began to kiss his mouth savagely.  
  
"'Mione," he moaned into her mouth.  
  
He felt her hand travel from his back to his chest until she finally rested it on the bulge of his trousers. Ron closed his eyes tight, enjoying the feeling of being so intimate with Hermione.  
  
"Hermione," he managed to say, "bedroom."  
  
She nodded and he put her back on her feet. He took her hand and led her to the bedroom. They teased and played and kissed and discovered until the moment Ron entered her. She was on her back, naked, in his bed, where he had wanted her to be for so long. Her hair was spread across the pillows. Once he was deep inside her, he looked at her in the eyes. Tears were rolling down her cheeks. She looked both happy and sad. He held her face with his hands, wiping her tears with his thumbs, and asked,  
  
"Why are you crying, love?"  
  
"Because I am happy," she said honestly. And she was. At that very moment, she was truly happy. It would be her last happy moment for a long time to come. "Did I hurt you?"  
  
"No... Ron..."  
  
"Yes, Hermione?" he asked gently, lovingly.  
  
"I love you..." she whispered. "I love you!" she moaned as he was beginning to move inside her.  
  
More tears, different ones, rolled down her cheeks. He wiped them with his kisses, each time saying "I love you." He buried his head in the crook of her neck and admitted, "Merlin, Hermione, I have loved you for so long. Forever. I can't believe you're here, in my arms. I want this moment to be engraved in my memory forever."  
  
She did her best not to burst in tears. Her voice shaking, she begged, "Ron, make love to me. Please, make love to me."  
  
All through their love making, she begged him to love her, to hold her tight, to make love to her. He looked at her for a long time afterwards, once she had fallen asleep. The sheets only half-covered her beautiful and full breasts. He caressed her hair. Before falling asleep, too, he knew what he ought to do: he had to cancel his wedding with Eileen. How could he still pretend? A new life was waiting for him, a life full of Hermione's smiles, of making love to Hermione... A brand new life.  
  
When she heard that his breathing was even, Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him to see if he was really sleeping. He was. She stared at the ceiling for a moment before looking down at the bedside table where was a picture of Eileen and Ron stood. Tears invaded her eyes. What had she done? What had she done to her best friend on the night before his wedding day? Even if she loved him, she shouldn't have done that to Ron. To Eileen. She bit her lips and pulled at her hair.  
  
She got up slowly, afraid of waking him up, put on her clothes, her shoes. She walked to the bedroom door but stopped short once she stood there. She looked back at the bed, at Ron who was sleeping peacefully, almost smiling in his sleep.  
  
"Goodbye, Ron," she mouthed. She kissed her fingertips and blew the kiss towards him. She nearly choked on a sob.  
  
One minute later, her mac on, she took her wand and disapparated. 


End file.
